


"Dangerous" Yeah, Right.

by AkiRah



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Embarrassing confessions, F/M, Karaoke at the Gnawed Noble Tavern, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 07:35:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4598304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkiRah/pseuds/AkiRah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leliana has spent weeks pleading with the gang to go to Karaoke at the Gnawed Noble Tavern on a Friday night. After some bribery, some outright lies and a promise of splitting the likely extensive tab, our heroes settle in for an evening of music, libation and surprise romance. Sten is having a sex on the beach, and the rightness of the moment is directly inverse to the wrongness of that sentence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Dangerous" Yeah, Right.

**Author's Note:**

> I instinctively want to apologize for this.

Denerim, Fereldan is home to the Gnawed Noble bar. The Gnawed Noble, on Fridays, has a relatively successful karaoke night that Leliana has been _pleading_ with you to go to for weeks. A combination of puppy dog eyes, blackmail and lying to Morrigan later and your whole party is seated at a round booth near the stage, drinks in front of you and names on the KJ's list. 

Even Morrigan, who only agreed to do it when you offered to cover her tab for the evening, and Sten, who probably didn’t know what he was signing up for. 

You’re half-way through your first coke and crown when the KJ, you guess, calls your name. Laughing you wriggle past Zevran and out of the booth. It’s not _loud_ in the Gnawed Noble and you’ve never been particularly shy, but there’s a flutter in your stomach of “what if I sound like shit?!” rapidly silenced when you remember that Sten signed up _right_ after you did. You’re going to look like a goddamn idol next to that. 

The music starts and you’re delighted that you remembered to pick something fairly simple, if not _exactly_ in your range. At least you know the words by heart. “I never loved nobody fully,” you laugh the words, feeling awkward before finding your footing (so to speak) and managing through the rest of Regina Spektor’s “Fidelity” while looking more at your table than at the screen. 

About half-way through the second verse you notice Zevran elbow Alistair, who goes pink. Another laugh almost throws you off beat. 

Zevran cheers, loudly, as the music ends. Alistair claps. Leliana squeals in delight and shoulders Sten who manages a smile that is marginally more encouraging that Morrigan’s probably-friendly eye roll. You’re really never sure about Morrigan and her eye rolls. They happen often enough you should probably be fluent in them, but you’re not. 

You slide past Zevran and back in front of your crown and coke. “This looks notably fuller than when I left it,” you raise an eyebrow. 

“Sten did not like his.” Zev shrugs. 

“So. . . you poured it into mine?” 

“Yes.” 

You lean over to look at Sten, unreadable as ever. “What are you drinking?”

“I believe it’s called a Sex on The Beach.” 

For some reason, those words in Sten’s voice send a rolling giggle through the party that culminates in your crown and coke nearly choking you. Even Morrigan huffs the first breath of a chuckle, though that might have been at your choking. 

Sten is having a sex on the beach and the rightness of the moment is inversely related to the rightness of that sentence. 

Another patron goes between you and Sten, giving him long enough to finish his drink. He takes the stage sullenly and speaks all the words to “Help” by the Beatles, making no effort to sing at all. You’re amused, but not at all surprised. 

He returns to the table after ordering another sex on the beach (he has found something that works and is not given to experimentation). “I will not be doing that again.” 

“Sure thing. Did you have fun?” 

He takes a contemplative sip. “Yes. But it was not the singing. It was the expression on the bartender.”

“That’s. . . okay, Sten. I’m happy for you.” 

The KJ summons Leliana who presses a kiss to your cheek for “luck” before bounding over to the stage. 

You’re half expecting “Blank Space” by Taylor Swift, given the “conversation” (it was an argument) she and Zevran had had on the way here. When Leliana breaks into “Like a Prayer” by Madonna you figure that maybe they agreed that neither of them would sing it, or else that they’ll sing it together later. You nudge Alistair’s leg under the table and grin at him. 

“What were you blushing about?” You shout over Leliana’s admittedly gorgeous voice. 

Alistair goes pinker and takes another drink. “Nothing,” he says too quickly. “Something Zevran said. Another drink? I’ll get it.” 

“He. . .scampered.” You blink, watching Alistair half-run back to the bar amidst Zevran’s laughter and Sten’s disinterested scoffing. 

“You almost seem surprised.” Morrigan purrs. She sets down her blood red drink and gives you a cruel smile. “He’s a coward.” 

“Be nice.” 

She scoffs. 

You turn your attention off of Morrigan and grin at Leliana, standing on stage under the lights and singing her heart out. Beautiful. Like she belongs there. She grins back and bows as the piece ends, skipping back to you. 

“Where’s Alistair?” 

“The bar?” You phrase it like a question and turn your head to look. Alistair isn’t at the bar. “The bathroom? Huh.” You turn back down to your empty crown and coke. “Right, another drink Morrigan? Think you’re up next.”

“Zevran should be next.” She produces a nail file and starts to work on her nails. “And yes. Another one of these.” 

“What _is_ that?” 

“It’s a Bloody Mary.” 

“Alright. Anyone else?” 

“My very favorite: a red-headed slut.” Zevran grins, taking the blow to his shoulder from Leliana with grace and a smile. “And Leliana’s next drink on my tab, as payment for what she clearly interpreted as an insult.” 

“Is there a drink cleverly named for blonde elvhen horndogs?” 

“Sten’s drinking it,” Zevran retorts. “I’ll treat you sometime.” 

She smacks him again, by settles in his lap and you decide that now is not the moment to unravel that particular mystery. “Mojito, Leliana? You like mojitos.” 

“Yes please. On Zevran’s tab.” 

“My lady.” He kisses her cheek in the same moment you turn to hit the bar. 

Bodhan Feddic and his son Sandal have owned the Noble for a couple of years now, having replaced the old, shady bartender and really cleaned the place up. He gives you a warm smile. “What can I get you?” 

You order the assorted drinks for your table, Sandal is offered to help carry them, and ask if Bodhan’s seen Alistair. Bodhan nods as Morrigan is summoned up to the stage. “He’s outside. You going to go check on him?” 

“In a minute.” You say, quickly making sure the right drinks are on the right tabs. Not that it matters. Not really. 

Morrigan clears her throat and crosses her arms, uncrossing them only when you indicate that, yes, you’re listening. Dido’s “Thank You” rolls grudgingly, but nicely, off her tongue. You can’t help but grin a little. Sweet song sung by the most sour person you’ve ever met. It makes you remember that despite her prickly, hateful exterior you and Morrigan are actually friends despite yourselves. 

As much as you want to go look for Alistair you wait until Morrigan's finished, trying to be polite. While she reads the lyrics off the screens you look around, trying to spot some sign of Alistair, but he remains irritatingly absent and you carry the drinks back to your table. 

“You were gone a while.” 

“Looking for Alistair.” You shrug. “Sometimes he mopes.” You set Morrigan’s drink in front of her and the smile you offer is met with generalized disdain and the soft bend of a pleased nod. “You sounded great, by the way.” Morrigan requires her ego soothed in ways Leliana and the rest do not. You check your phone and shoot a questioning text to Alistair,

> U ok???

You sip your crown and coke while you wait for a reply.

There are three patrons between Morrigan and Zevran, long enough actual conversation. It’s nice, just hanging out without some crisis or another. Alistair returns about half-way through the second song and settles across from you, his foot nudging yours. 

“Everything alright?” you ask. 

“Yeah, fine.” 

“Looking up lyrics, my friend?” Zevran waggles his eyebrows. “Did you use the site I suggested?”

Alistair hunches his shoulders and takes a long drink of his whiskey sour. “Shut up.”

“There is no harm in wanting to be--”

“I’m not listening. No one is listening.”

“Ah, Alistair, my young friend.”

You roll your eyes while Zevran shrugs and Leliana giggles. 

The KJ mispronounces Zevran’s name and he smacks Leliana’s ass lightly while he stands. “For Luck,” he winks before taking the stage. 

Leliana sits in his spot a sips her sex on the beach, nodding to Sten that yes, this is delicious when you hear the first notes of “Blank Space” by Taylor Swift. Leliana’s expression shifts from blithe contentment to utter _betrayal_ and she whirls around to glare daggers at the stage. Zevran laughs into the microphone and looks at the also-smiling KJ. “A joke,” he assures Leliana and the rest of the bar. 

“Zevran, you _mmmmmmm._ ” Leliana shouts and then huffs with bemused frustration. The screen changes and announces that Zevran will _actually_ be singing “Honey I’m Good,” by Andy Grammar. He winks at Leliana and you roll your eyes before looking at Alistair. He grins at you, whiskey sour almost gone and cheeks pink with what you would assume to be a bar flush if you hadn’t seen him drink before. 

“Nervous?” 

“Nervous? Ha. Why, why would I be nervous?”

“Because you’re a stammering, blushing simpleton about to embarrass himself in front of a bar full of people.” Morrigan chimes “helpfully”. You shoot her a quick glare and reach across the table to squeeze Alistair’s hand. His palm shifts under yours so he can curl his thumb over the back of your hand before he pulls away and finishes his drink. “I’m going to get another one. Actually. This time. Crown and Coke?” 

“Yeah. Thanks.” You grin. “You _actually_ coming back this time?” 

“Yes. Yes of course.” 

He _does_ actually come back this time. Returning to the table at the same time as Zevran. He sets your drink in front of you and Sten stands to take all the empty glasses back to the bar.

“I suppose I’m next?” Alistair clears his throat. “Why did I agree to do this.” 

“Leliana pouted, Morrigan baited you and I said please?” You point out, taking a drink. 

“Riiiight.” 

He takes the stage and you watch, offering the same silent support you did Morrigan because you’re friends and really Alistair is easier to be there for. _Also,_ whispers the crown and coke in your veins, _you could probably bounce quarters off that ass._

You are instantly ashamed of yourself. Besides, _mostly_ Alistair has great arms and _Great Maker stop objectifying your best friend._

“This is, ah, for my best friend.” Alistair mutters into the mic before making eye contact with you. You tilt your head in bemused confusion that twinkles and sparks into laughter as the words “Dangerous in the Style of Big Data” flash across the screen. 

“Really?” you shout over the opening bars. 

“Really.” Alistair replies into the mic before adopting a truly terribly falsetto and starting to sing. No one at your table can take this seriously. Even Sten has his head in one massive palm, shoulders shaking with silent second hand embarrassment. 

There is something beautiful about a friend humiliating himself on your behalf and it keeps your eyes glued on Alistair. 

“You understand they've got a plan for us, I bet you didn't know that I was dangerous.” 

He sings it so sincerely that you actually snort. Alistair Theirin is _many_ things but ‘dangerous’ has never been at the top of the list of adjectives you might use. It’s _on_ the list, sure, but ranking several spaces below words like “charming” or “adorable”, possibly even below “comically inept on occasion” which is four words, but close enough.

“It must be fate, I found a place for us.” 

He locks eyes with you, mouth twisting to a smirk that on another face might be perceived as _sneaky._

“I bet you didn’t know someone could love you this much.” 

You don’t need Zevran’s ‘aaaay’ or Leliana’s giggle to know that you are blushing. You _really_ don’t need Morrigan’s ‘ugh’. You bring a hand up to feel your fever-hot skin and maybe Alistair hasn’t noticed. He’s on the stage. Where the lights are. _You_ couldn’t have seen someone blush from the stage. Except that you did. Shit. 

“I told him you felt the same,” Zevran sighs. “I do love being right.” 

“You’re an _ass_ , Zevran.”

“This is true. But you can’t deny that I was right.” 

No part of this should be as charming as it is, but there you have it. Your smile softens and you pinch the bridge of your nose because you’ve never been asked out in song (Zevran confirms that that is, in fact, what is going on) but it’s. . . sweet. It’s sweet and it’s so uniquely Alistair, using a situation in which there’s no obligation to say or do anything in case you’re not interested. 

What an idiot. 

The song finishes and you clear your throat when Alistair sits down. His ears are as red as your cheeks and the way Zevran laughs is _not helping_. 

“You, uh, wanna go outside?” you ask. “Get some air?”

“Yeah. It’s hot in here.” 

“Almost as hot as your ears, no?” 

“ _Maker,wouldyoushutupZevran._


End file.
